


A Strongly-Worded Letter

by mustdefine



Category: Gymnastics RPF
Genre: Crack, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musty complains to the Kelloggs management after Aly Raisman is injured on tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strongly-Worded Letter

“NooooOOOOOOooooo!!!!”

The shout reverberated through Round Lake, wreaking havoc in its wake. Underage couples sprang apart in a scandalously large number of dorm rooms. Icicles plunged from eaves and nearly impaled unfortunate blond male gymnasts. In the training hall, Tatiana Nabieva fell over for no reason.

Masha and Vika removed their fingers from their ears and stared at each other.

“Your girlfriend’s lost it,” Masha said matter-of-factly. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Vika said, sighing so hard that she had to sit down rather abruptly. “Don’t you know she’s thrown me over for that club-footed American? I’ll never find another person to love me as long as I liiiiiive.”

“God, Vika, don’t be such a drama llama. Let’s go find her, it sounds like she might have strained something.”

“Or maybe she’s dead,” Vika said darkly. But she followed Paseka anyway.

They found Aliya crouched over her laptop like a vulture. A really sad vulture surrounded by dirty plates and unwashed leotards. She looked up at them guiltily. 

Masha wrinkled her nose. “Musty, what the hell, do you even do laundry any more? Or did you lose  _another_  medal in the wash and just give up?”

“Or did someone else on the Tumble-thing make fun of Raisman’s dancing?”

“Or did Raisman post another pic on Insta-whatever with a girl who isn’t you?”

“No. WORSE. She’s been injured.”

“Doing what? Keg stands?”

“Masha!” Aliya reproved. “She is UNDERAGE.”

Masha snorted. “Yet another reason to give up this useless pursuit and stick to Russian girls. At least we can hold our liquor.”

“Yeah. Russians have more fun. Everyone knows  _that_.”

“You guuuuuys, you don’t understand,” Aliya wailed. “She can’t do the TOUR! She could be irreparably injured! What were the cereal people thinking? What if I don’t see her at Worlds? What if I never see her again?!?”

Vika elbowed Masha. “And you say I’m a drama llama.”

Aliya glared at them both. “Hate all you want. Our love is true. And the cereal people are batshit crazy. Someone needs to put a stop to this before Aly—” Her eyes closed reverently for a moment at her crush’s name. “—is injured any further.” 

“OH MY GOD you don’t even know her.”

“I know her enough! I must go to her.”

“Not with Aleksandrov holding your passport,” Vika said. Aliya glared at her again, but they both knew that their coach wasn’t letting the lovestruck gymnast out of Round Lake, much less the country.

“So what are you going to do?”

Aliya stopped fuming and looked determined. “I,” she announced, “am going to write the cereal people a letter. A STRONGLY-WORDED letter.”

“You better write it in all caps and use frowny emoticons, that way they’ll know you’re serious.”

“Feel free to leave before I punch you in the face, Paseka.”

“Feel free to bite me, Mustafina.” 

“Maybe she’s leaving, but this I have to see.” Vika plopped down next to Aliya. “And afterward you are taking a shower if I have to throw you into it.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Aliya peered at the screen intently. “Contact info, contact info … should I email them or use the contact form?”

“I think you should email them. So you have a record of it.”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s really smart.”

It was also a great opportunity for Vika to hack her email later for future blackmail. Vika grinned.

“‘Dear … sellers … of … breakfast grains,’” Aliya muttered, typing laboriously.

Vika snorted. “Brilliant.”

“I want to be formal! I feel like I should be formal. Like, ‘bitches, you are hereby on notice.’ You know?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Absolutely.”

Thankfully, Aliya was too absorbed in typing to notice the sarcasm dripping from Vika’s words.

“‘I must protest two things. First, that execrable excuse for gymnastics you deem a tour.’”

“You’re so polite.”

Aliya thought hard. “In English, how do they say it, shitty? Yes. ‘That shitty excuse for gymnastics … Second. The unreasonable—nay, inhumane—conditions to which you have subjected one of the finest athletes in the world …’” A big goofy grin spread across her face. “And she is  _fine_.”

Vika nudged her. “Alka. You stopped typing.”

“Yes! Typing, right … uh … finest athletes in the world, here we are. ‘If you do not cease your exploitative capitalist depredation upon the world’s most beautiful, talented, gorgeous, funny, stunning, intelligent, incredibly good-looking girl, I will come for you. I will rip your extremities off with my bare hands, roast them upon a fire of your entrails, and feed you to yourself. And then I will drown what is left of you in a bowl of your own grain flakes. Sincerely, Aliya Fargatovna Mustafina.’” Aliya nodded to herself in satisfaction, then hit send.

Vika stared in horror. This wasn’t funny any more. “Masha was right. You have lost your mind.”

“No,” Aliya said dreamily. “Only my heart.”

As Vika fled, another sound swept through Round Lake that struck terror into hearts. It was Aliya singing, loudly and off-key:

“Party rock is in the hoooouse tonight …”


End file.
